Watching like a Hawke
by MidnightMoonCat
Summary: A lady mage in a city full of templars, Hawke is looking for more than a new home. She is searching for answers about her past and who her father really was. But life is never what we expect. Her attraction to a brooding elf adds new complications to an already difficult situation. Rated M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1: Memories

The walk back from the Wounded Coast seemed longer than usual. Anders had an emergency in his clinic that morning and couldn't go with them to search for the Viscount's son, so Hawke had asked Fenris, Varric, and Aveline to join her. If rescuing Seamus had been the only thing they needed to deal with, it would have been fine. Unfortunately, there were still several groups of Tal-Vashoth wandering the area and since her band had destroyed their main camp, the Qunari outcasts were not happy to see her. Then, of course, the "Winters" seemed to have hired every available mercenary in the Free Marches to kill one Qunari. Hawke's energy had dropped quickly as she cast one spell after another to keep her companions from being surrounded by several waves of attackers. It had definitely taken a toll on her. She could have downed one of the few lyrium potions in her bag, but she tried not to use them unless it was a real emergency. She cringed every time she had to pay the ridiculously high prices that the merchants in Kirkwall charged. Her parents had taught her how to do the most with limited resources, and those valuable lessons were helping her raise the funds for the Deep Roads expedition faster than even Varric realized.

As soon as they reached the edge of Kirkwall, Varric had split off from their group, no doubt heading for the Hanged Man to begin his usual evening ritual of drinking ale, telling stories and cheating at cards. The sun had already set by the time Hawke escorted Seamus into his father's office. She was so tired, the patience which normally made her so diplomatic seemed to disappear. Hawke didn't wait to hear the argument that started immediately between the pair. She simply walked out to collect her reward from the seneschal with a muttered comment that their conversation was personal. As Hawke headed down the stairs to the main entry room, the only person waiting for her was Fenris. At her questioning look, he responded.

"Aveline has retired to the barracks."

Too tired to even speak, Hawke simply nodded and they fell in step as they exited the Keep. She paused at the top of the long stairway that led down to the rest of Hightown and a deep sigh escaped her lips.

This time it was Fenris who shot her the questioning glance, and she felt compelled to explain.

"It's just... the thought of going back to Gamlen's tonight and listening to Carver complain because I didn't ask him to join us, while Mother worries about me being killed like Bethany... I just wish my family could understand that I don't enjoy fighting, I just don't seem to have many other options these days if I want to protect them and provide them a real home." She sighed again and then seemed to realize who she was talking to. "I'm sorry, Fenris. I have no right to complain, least of all to you."

Fenris was surprised at Hawke's comments. He had never heard her complain about her family or, really, anything else for that matter. She always seemed ready and able to take on new challenges, even when they were not her responsibility. She helped so many people in Kirkwall and he knew that no matter how badly she needed the money for Bartrand's expedition, she sometimes refused to take coin from the refugees who sought her aid. He thought back to the night they had met and her readiness to help a lowly slave she didn't know. Later that same night, they had failed to find Danarius at the mansion and Fenris vented his frustrations, clearly stating his distrust of all mages, including her. Even then, she simply watched him in silence, then responded with polite questions about his past. That air of peace and calm was one of the main reasons he had offered her more than just the coin Anso promised. She had surprised him again by accepting him into her little group.

He must have been lost in thought for a moment, because he realized with a start that Hawke had already begun moving down the stairs. He barely heard her whispered comment.

"Perhaps I'll stop at the Hanged Man and ask how much it costs to get a room. If I'm lucky, I might even be able to get some hot bath water."

One corner of Fenris's mouth lifted slightly and he could not help but respond. "If you stop at the Hanged Man, you will get no rest. Varric will keep you up half the night talking and you'll be lucky if you do not wake up naked in Isabella's room. Unless that's where you want to be..."

That last line was whispered so quietly, Hawke wondered for a moment if she had imaged it. Her body ached after the long day and she quickly decided the best course was to ignore that comment until she could think clearly again. "I don't even want to walk all the way to Lowtown. Why did Kirkwall have to built on the side of a cliff? Do you know there are over 500 steps to go down between the Keep and the Hanged Man?"

A rumbling chuckle that Hawke had never heard before echoed softly in the darkness. "Why, in the Maker's name, did you count them?"

Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the fact that they seemed to be alone for once in the darkness, but Hawke found it somehow easier to let down her guard. Her response surprised them both.

"Magic was not the only thing that I inherited from my father. Even when I thought he was busy with something else, he always noticed the smallest details around him and could remember it all perfectly years later. Carver regretted that level of awareness whenever he got caught trying to sneak out at night, but I admired it. It gave my father incredible control over his magic. His spells could hit any target precisely and he never wasted lyrium. He often said that magic is like any powerful weapon, if you don't know how to control it, you will end up doing more harm than good."

The corners of Hawke's lips curled upwards slowly, and Fenris felt a strange sensation in his chest at the sight.

"You know, even though my parents never discussed it in front of me, I always thought that Hawke was not my father's real family name. It fit him almost too well, like a well-earned nickname. I wonder if I will ever have the chance to find out."

Fenris was so intrigued by the insight into Hawke's history, that he did not respond with his normal rant against magic. He simply prompted Hawke to continue.

"So you share your father's gift. How does that lead to counting steps?"

Hawke shook her head and laughed for a moment.

"I'm not sure if it is a gift or a curse. The first time I walked from the Keep to Lowtown, I counted all 524 steps without even realizing it. That happens sometimes."

Understanding lit Fenris's face. "And like your father, the memory stays with you even after having been in Kirkwall more than a year."

"Yes, I remember everything, even the things I wish I could forget."

The smile had disappeared from her face as quickly as it had appeared. She glanced up at Fenris as though trying to guess his reaction before she spoke again.

"While I would never wish anyone to be subjected to the pain you endured while receiving those marks, I sometimes envy you. Your past before the ritual might have been much worse than what came after. Forgetting it might be the best thing that happened to you."

The bitterness that was never far below the surface rose swiftly. Fenris's scathing tone clearly conveyed the anger he felt at her words.

"And it could have been glorious, but I'll never know, will I? The freedom to chose was taken from me. All that was left was the pain."

He turned and strode down the remaining stairs, heading for his home in Danarius's abandoned mansion. The faint sound of cursing in Arcanum faded into the distance. Hawke lifted a weary hand to wipe away the tear that slowly rolled down her cheek. Her whispered response was swallowed by the darkness before it ever reached him.

"I understand more than you know."


	2. Chapter 2: Lost

Two sharp knocks on the door told Fenris that the newly appointed Guard Captain was visiting early today. He stood up slowly from where he had fallen asleep on the chair by the fireplace, ignoring the familiar throbbing in his head from the wine he drank last night. After all, what was a little more pain? An echo of his conversation with Hawke drifted through his mind. He pushed away the memory as he went cautiously down the stairs.

Aveline knocked again before he could even reach the door. The pounding resonated in his skull and he pulled the door open with a scowl.

"What do you want?" His tone was hard as squinted up at her. Thank the Maker that Danarius had stayed in an estate with a front door hidden in a nice shady corner of Hightown. The reflection of morning sunshine on Aveline's armor would have been more than he could stand right now.

Aveline pushed past him, striding into the dark recesses of the mansion and began heading up the stairs.

"Where is she? What did you do to her? If you hurt her, so help me..."

Fenris grabbed one of Aveline's arms before she could get hurt. When she spun about to face him with a gauntleted fist raised, he quickly let go of her arm, pointing to the step just above her and informing her not to walk on it.

Aveline lifted one eyebrow and it almost reached the headband she always wore.

"Traps, Fenris? Inside the house?"

He sighed, moving past Aveline and heading upstairs. Stepping over the area he said was trapped (she couldn't see anything, but that didn't mean it wasn't there), Aveline asked him again.

"Where is she?"

"Where is who, Aveline?"

He slumped wearily into his favorite armchair, gesturing for her to sit in the chair across from him. Aveline eyed the empty wine bottles laying on the floor with distaste as she sat down. She couldn't be sure how many were recent, since Fenris never seemed to bother picking up after himself.

"Hawke. Where is Hawke, Fenris?"

Aveline noted the obvious surprise on Fenris's face as he lifted his head for a moment to look at her.

"Why would I have any idea where Hawke is? I am not part of her family. Ask them."

"Who do you think told me she was missing? She never came home last night. I assumed that you would at least walk her home from the Keep. After the day we had yesterday, she certainly didn't have the energy to fight off the gangs in Lowtown by herself."

A look of guilt slipped over Fenris's face for a moment, but he shook his head before replying.

"I am not her keeper, Aveline. Hawke is an adult. We parted ways here in Hightown. She mentioned getting a room for the night at the Hanged Man. You should check Isabella's room. She's dropped more than enough hints that she'd like to have Hawke join her."

Aveline noted the bitter tone of his voice and wondered who he was getting jealous about, Hawke or Isabella. Maybe she didn't wanted to know. Hawke was like a sister to her and Aveline didn't want to see anything happen to her. Isabella, on the over hand... a shudder ran through her just thinking about that worthless pirate.

"Hawke has more sense than to spend the night with that trollop. Maker only knows what foul diseases she brought to Kirkwall when her ship crashed on the reefs."

"Still, you'll have more luck finding Hawke there. She would certainly never stay here."

Fenris stood then and moved towards the door, making it clear that he expected Aveline to leave now. When they got downstairs, his hand reached for the door and then stilled for a moment. He glanced at Aveline, his white hair falling in his face and hiding his expression.

"Next time, I'll make sure to stay with her until she gets home."

Aveline's words were as cold as the look she gave him.

"No need. I won't make the mistake of leaving that task to you again. Hawke actually means something to me."

She reached around him and opened the door herself, moving out into the city with purposeful strides. The echo of her boots clanging sharply on the stone paving resonated in his head as he wearily closed the door and headed back upstairs.

For the second time that morning, Aveline found herself pounding on someone's door. Corff was still wearing his small clothes when he raised the lock bar and opened the front door to let Aveline enter. She belatedly remembered that the Hanged Man didn't open for outside patrons until after midday, and she muttered a quick apology to him before moving into the interior of the bar. Her reason for being there, however, was too important to delay.

"Is Hawke here?" she asked impatiently.

Corff looked a little confused and replied, "If you mean the girl Hawke, she was here last night with Varric and Isabella".

Aveline tried unsuccessfully to keep the look of disgust off her face at the mention of the pirate. Letting your emotions get in the way was never good for an investigation.

"What do you mean, she WAS here?"

"Like I said, she was here for a little while and had one drink. She looked like she was about to fall asleep at the table until that healer from Darktown showed up and dragged her off somewhere."

Aveline turned away from Corff and headed up the stairs to Varric's suite. She didn't even bother knocking on his door, she simply shoved it open and walked up next to his bed.

"Varric."

Her voice could have roused the dead from their graves without blood magic, but Varric just mumbled something in his sleep about griffons, then rolled over presenting his back to Aveline. Aveline scowled at the lump under the covers and moved to the other side of the bed, reaching out one hand to where his beautiful crossbow, Bianca, lay gentled cradled in a velvet-lined custom-made case on the pillow next to his. Before her hand was even halfway there, Varric's voice came clearly from amidst the covers.

"Aveline, don't."

"I knew you weren't really asleep" she said triumphantly.

"I was REALLY asleep until you got here. So now that you've interrupted mine and Bianca's well-deserved rest at..." he glanced over to the dwarven water clock on one of the side shelves and turned back to glare at Aveline.

"Andraste's ass, woman! What are you doing here so early?"

Aveline was getting tired of asking the same question over and over again, but Maker's Breath, this was important.

"Where is Hawke? She never made it home last night. I already know she came here, but where did she go after that?"

Varric sat up immediately, a look of concern replacing the scowl on his face. _At least he cares what happened to Hawke_, Aveline thought to herself.

"Blondie showed up just before I had a chance to get her a room, and whispered something in her ear. She stood up and took off with him faster than a shot from Bianca. Neither one of them came back. I had to promise Corff that she would settle her tab later this week."

So, obviously, Varric's concern didn't extend to paying for Hawke's drinks.

"Fine. So far this morning, I've already been to Gamlen's house, Fenris's mansion and now the Hanged Man. I'm heading to Darktown next, and Maker help me, she had better be there!"

Varric threw off the covers and stood up, his mass of golden curly chest hair spilling out from the low front of his shirt. It was the same shirt that he wore yesterday when they were looking for Seamus. Varric always seemed so well-groomed, but for a moment Aveline wondered if that was really true. When Varric opened a near-by drawer and pulled out an identical silk shirt that was clean and pressed, she smiled. _Answered that question_. She turned and headed for the door.

"Aren't you going to wait for me?" Varric's voice called out after her.

"No, you need to check the only other two places I haven't been, Merrill's house and the Chantry."

Varric glared at her retreating back for a moment at the thought of being forced to talk to choir boy, but then a sudden smile lit up his face. _At least I get to decide which place to go to first, and no instructions on how long I have to stay. _

"I wonder if Daisy needs anything from the market?" he whispered to himself and began humming a jaunty little tune.

**Author's note: I know that Sebastian doesn't become an official member of the gang until Act II, but I figure after avenging his family, Hawke would stop by the chantry regularly to check in on him. After all, it was only a little over a year ago that she lost her sister, Bethany. Sebastian lost his entire family.**


	3. Chapter 3: Secrets

Aveline stomped through the passages connecting Lowtown and Darktown. An uneasy feeling had been growing all morning, ever since Carver sent the note that Hawke was missing. After a morning spent running around the city searching, the feeling was only getting worse. Hawke knew better than to stay out all night like this. She knew how much her mother, Leandra, would worry. Even though Hawke's younger sister Bethany had passed away just over a year ago, the loss was still fresh in Leandra's mind. Seeing as how Bethany had died the same day that Aveline lost her husband, Wesley, the pain of that loss was completely understandable to the Guard Captain. And Aveline knew, without a doubt, that Hawke would never willingly add to Leandra's pain. That meant something was wrong. And she intended to find out what was going on.

When she finally reached the clinic that Anders ran in Darktown, she was not happy to find the doors locked and a small line of refugees waiting outside. Reining in her temper, she approached them carefully. The armor of the Kirkwall guard was enough to send the refugees scurrying away to hide in places she either could not or would not follow. Instead, she raised her voice slightly, hoping they would recognize the familiar sound of a fellow Fereldan. She needed at least a few of them to stay so she could ask about Hawke and the Grey Warden Healer.

"Is the clinic closed for the day?"

Several pairs of eyes swung her way and at least half the crowd scattered just as she had predicted. A few of the refugees recognized her from her previous visits to the clinic and stayed, although they still eyed her suspiciously.

"Looks that way, but it weren't supposed to be."

The response came from a young woman holding the hand of a boy who could be no more than 5 years old. The boy was fidgeting and finally managed to pull his hand free. The woman gave her a quick apologetic look and then started off down the corridor away from the clinic, trying desperately to catch-up to what Aveline hoped was her brother (the girl was too young to have a son that age). _I hope she catches him_, thought Aveline. _Darktown is no place to lose a child._ She turned back to continue questioning the others.

"When was the last time any of you saw the healer?"

"I saw him just last night, before he closed the clinic. Told me to come back this morning, he did. But I'm here and he's not."

Another of the refugees spoke up, "We ain't done nothin' wrong. Got no reason to keep us here."

Aveline sighed before responding. "You are correct. I am searching for the healer and a friend. If you have no information on them, you can leave."

One of the refugee's stepped forward, a sly look on his face. "I can tell you where the healer is right now. What might that be worth to you?"

"And how, exactly, do you know that?" Aveline watched his face, looking for signs that he was lying. For a moment his eyes slid to glance at something over her shoulder. Aveline stepped away from the man and carefully looked back, a hand on her sword hilt just in case. It wouldn't be the first time a lone guard was jumped in Darktown and Aveline had no time right now to fight off an attack.

To her relief, she spotted Anders coming down the corridor towards the clinic. _Maker's Breath, he looks worse this morning than I felt last night. _And Hawke was NOT with him. This time, Aveline was determined to get some answers.

Anders walked up the final set of stairs towards his clinic. His head was down and he leaned heavily on his staff, using it to help keep himself upright. He could not remember the last time he had felt this kind of bone-deep exhaustion. Last night was an experience he hoped to never repeat. Unfortunately, knowing Hawke, it would happen again. All he wanted right now was to drop into his cot and get a few hours of blessed sleep. As soon as he heard Aveline's voice, his hopes were dashed.

"Where is Hawke, Anders? She didn't go home last night and I have been searching for her all morning."

If Anders had not spent the last few weeks around Hawke, he would have assumed Aveline was just being a bitch, but he knew that her anger was based on real concern about the welfare of the entire Hawke family. Well, maybe not Gamlen, but then Hawke's uncle was good for nothing.

"I know she didn't go home last night, Aveline. She was with me."

"Maker's Breath, what mess did you drag her into this time, mage?"

It occurred to Anders that Aveline hadn't suspected, for even a moment, that Hawke being with him last night was anything sexual. Either Aveline thought he was too much of a gentleman to try anything, or she thought Hawke would never be interested. He wasn't sure if he should be honored or offended. Maybe both. Anders gave her a quick look of distaste before responding, "Actually, I was helping her. And I don't think this is something that should be discussed out here".

He gestured slightly with his head and Aveline noticed that a small group of refugees was standing a short distance away, openly eavesdropping on their conversation.

"Right. Let's go inside to finish this." Aveline stepped out of the way, letting Anders move forward to unlock the doors.

After he ushered Aveline into the clinic, he turned back to the group of refugees still waiting around.

"I'm very sorry, but I've been up all night. I won't be able to do any healing today, so I'm going to have to ask you to return tomorrow."

There were a few unpleasant comments made as they turned away, but he knew they would be back tomorrow. _After all_, he thought, _where else will they get free healing_?

Anders walked into the clinic, locking the door as he went to prevent further interruptions. _Maker, how am I going to explain all of this to Aveline without Hawke killing me for revealing her secrets?_


	4. Chapter 4: Tormented

**I have to take a moment to dedicate this chapter to a wonderful friend I have made on this site, Hatsepsut. Not only is she is one of my favorite authors, she has been invaluable helping me with the chapter (and providing lots of inspiration). If you haven't read her stories, you should go and do that. Go on, I'll wait... :)**

**I also haven't written this specifically in the previous chapters, but Bioware owns all these wonderful toys, I just play with them.**

Fenris tried unsuccessfully to sleep, but Aveline's words lingered in his mind. He was almost positive that Aveline would find Hawke at the Hanged Man, but he couldn't stop the worry that clawed at his insides and kept his body from relaxing.

_What if Hawke had been attacked? What if Hawke was dead? What if he could have saved her, had he only been able to control his temper and finish escorting her home? What if? _

The thoughts were like wild animals, chasing each other around in his head. _That's all I am_, he finally thought, _just another wild animal. A wolf, as Danarius liked to call me. _

"Venhedis!"

He untangled himself from the blankets that made up his sleeping pallet, and glanced around the narrow passageway. It was not the most comfortable place to sleep. He had to stay on his side to keep from bumping into the walls, but safety was more important than comfort.

All of his companions (well, really Hawke's companions) who came into the house assumed he slept in the bed in the main room upstairs. That's what he wanted to them to think, along with anyone who might sneak into the mansion. After three years on the run and uncounted more as a slave, he knew better than to do something so obvious. In truth, he had searched every inch of the mansion when he first claimed it and found several carefully concealed sliding panels which led to a network of narrow passageways. He knew the corridors had been designed to allow the master of the house to spy on his guests without being seen.

The passages were scattered throughout the house, and Fenris had carefully set-up several of them with sleeping pallets and small caches of supplies. When the slavers showed up again to capture him, as he knew they would, this network would provide him several excellent escape routes. For now, he used them as hidden sleeping spots and alternated his choice each night. Well, except when he passed out drunk by the fireplace. Again.

He cursed louder this time, then stood up slowly and stretched as best he could in the cramped space. He still felt the ache in his muscles from the day before. Which led him back to thoughts of Hawke. No cursing this time, just a deep sigh. He rolled up the blankets and dropped them at the side of the corridor. His armor was carefully piled together a short distance away and his great sword leaned against the wall within arm's reach of where he had slept. He had been caught once without a weapon at hand, and it would never happen again.

Picking up his weapon and armor, he carried them towards a door that led into a small upstairs room which had once been used for storage. A leak in the roof allowed water to drip on the floor in one corner and Fenris had placed a deep basin beneath it to catch the rain. It hadn't rained in a few days, but there was still plenty of water for his needs. Stripping off the leather pants, which were the only thing he slept in, he quickly washed himself.

The warm summer weather in Kirkwall made the bath more comfortable than it would be if he were still here come winter. Before his thoughts could fixate on his future plans (or lack thereof), he dried himself briskly and slipped back into his leather pants. As he put on the rest of his armor, he fell into his old routine. He took a deep calming breath, held it for five heartbeats, then released it slowly. Wait another five heartbeats, then take another deep breath. Repeat. The familiar pattern helped to steady his mind. When the last buckle on his armor was fastened, he settled the comforting weight of his sword across his shoulder.

Finally, he closed the sliding door that led to the secret passage and reset the trap hidden there. He hadn't told Varric why he needed the traps and Varric hadn't asked, simply supplying him with a variety of devices and explaining how to set them up. Fenris knew that he could only disable these because Varric had shown him several times how to handle each one. How Varric disabled the blasted things so easily when they stumbled on one during a job, Fenris would never understand. And right now, it didn't really matter. He needed to make sure that Hawke was safe.

He left the storage room and headed downstairs. As his foot reached the bottom step, one thought popped into his head. Thirty-three.

He turned and looked back at the staircase he had just descended and checked. Yes, there were thirty-three steps from the top of the landing to where he now stood. _Why did I do that? And what good does knowing that do for me, anyway?_

Shaking his head as if to clear it of the silly thought, he opened the front door and stepped out into Hightown.

The day was bright and sunny, with a seemingly endless blue sky stretching overhead. A perfect summer day. Fenris scowled. _Why couldn't it be cloudy, or better yet, raining? _

Obviously, the weather was not going to cooperate with his desire to hide. He glanced around the small courtyard outside the mansion. The shortest path to the Hanged Man would take him through the main part of Hightown below the Keep, and then through the market. His scowl deepened. He tried to never be in this part of town during the day. He was too conspicuous. No amount of slouching would hide his very un-elf-like height or make the huge sword strapped to his back less noticeable. But, then again, standing there and staring at his feet wasn't going to get him to Hawke's side any faster. Fenris sighed and started towards the nearby stairs.

As he turned the corner, he almost ran into a nobleman coming the opposite way. The noble stopped and glared at him, expecting him to step aside for someone who was obviously more important that some lowly knife-ear! Anger surged through his veins and Fenris straightened up to his full height, looking down at the man below him. The nobleman moved up a few steps, bringing him closer to Fenris, and gave him a well-practiced look of disdain. It was a look Fenris was very familiar with. A look that said Fenris was worth less than the mud scraped off the nobleman's fancy boots. Fenris couldn't stop the words that slithered into his mind like poisonous snakes: _worthless...broken...animal... slave... slave... SLAVE! _

Fenris growled low in his throat and let the lyrium markings branded into his skin flare for just a moment with a soft blue glow. The nobleman made a very undignified, high-pitched sound and raced around him. Fenris kept his head up, glaring at the man's back as the nobleman ran towards one of the other mansions. As soon as the man was out of sight, Fenris's head dropped to his chest and his shoulders slumped again.

_Still just an animal._


	5. Chapter 5: Pie

**So, for the record, I may dedicate individual chapters in the future to other people, but overall, this entire story is dedicated to Hatsepsut. She's just that awesome. In addition to promoting my story in her own fan fics, this is also for all the amazing things she does behind the scenes to help me make this a better story for you, the readers. **

**As always, I write down what the characters whisper in my head, but they still belong to Bioware.**

Varric whistled a cheerful tune as he headed out of the Hanged Man and into the bright sunlight of Kirkwall. Although his final destination was the elven alienage, he had several stops to make along the way. Aveline liked to give orders as though everyone was one of her guards and she actually had the balls to assume that those orders would be followed. Varric was never good at following orders, even when he agreed with them.

His first stop was Lirene's Fereldan Imports. He stepped to the back of the line forming at the counter, slipped a coin into the donation box without being noticed, and then exchanged another coin for the note in the back pocket of the man in front of him. Pretending that he changed his mind about shopping there, Varric turned casually and left the shop.

Next up was the market stall that sold pies. He ordered three that were filled with hearty meat in a rich gravy, plus one of the smaller ones filled with ripe summer fruit in a sweet sauce. While they were being wrapped up for him, he flirted with the serving girl and had her blushing by the time she handed him his order. As he walked away from the stall, he slightly squashed two of the meat pies and put them into his pack and then laid the fruit pie very carefully on top of them. He unwrapped the third meat pie and took a bite, savoring the flavor. All he was missing was a cold ale to wash it down.

He wandered through the market, glancing at the items on display and taking the occasional bite of pie. That Antivan merchant had a nice dagger that Isabela might like, and he made a mental note to show it to her later. If she couldn't afford it, it would just disappear from the table while the merchant shamelessly ogled her massive, barely contained breasts. _Maker, but that pirate certainly knew how to distract men, and a fair number of women, too_. Varric chuckled at the thought.

As he took the last bite of his pie, Varric slipped the note out and glanced at it. Perfect! The dwarf who had been causing problems for Bartrand over the past couple of weeks had found his warehouse attacked in the middle of the night by a "gang". The lyrium shipment that just arrived from Orzammar was gone. Varric would have to tip the "gang" in question a little extra for their good work.

Most of the lyrium potions would be hidden for use as bribes later, but a few would end up in Blondie's pack the next time he stopped in for a game of cards at the Hanged Man. Anders was not the best Wicked Grace player to begin with, and Maker forbid that anyone mention templars in the conversation. It was almost too easy to distract that man. Hawke, on the other hand, was a different "story". Varric had tried slipping an extra potion into Hawke's bag once, but even though he knew that she hadn't seen him put it there, she still was suspicious when she found it. He had watched her count the potions twice and frown the whole time. Damn, but that girl was too observant for her own good. Next time he planned to just hand her a potion after one of their numerous battles with the idiots who attacked them and tell her he had found it on a body. He doubted she would suspect anything odd about that. After all, they did occasionally find just such a potion on the corpse of one of their foolish attackers.

He dropped the note from his contact onto the wrapping paper from the pie and crumbled them up together, smearing the note with enough gravy to make the ink run and render it unreadable. He then tossed the whole soggy mess into a nearby sewer grate, holding his breath until he had moved farther away from the lingering fumes.

His next stop was to check in with the boys he had assigned to watch Gamlen's house. Twin brothers, about 14 summers in age, and orphans from Fereldan, he had one of his men hire them right off the docks when they had showed up six months ago. They had a look about them that said they knew how to get into and out of trouble. He had tried assigning them several different types of jobs over the months, but they excelled most at watching without being seen. The fact that they were twins was a bonus that Varric made use of, ensuring they wore similar clothes and were never seen together in public. As far as the rest of Kirkwall knew, there was only one of them. It also helped that most people in Kirkwall avoided the refugees whenever possible.

Like most of his "employees", Varric made sure they were paid enough to keep them from turning on him or going to work for someone else, but not enough that they could afford to stop working entirely. At least not until it was the right time. Of course, the boys had been talking about going back to Fereldan now that the blight was over. If they really wanted that, then he would give them a bonus and help them arrange their transportation. But he hoped they wouldn't go, at least for now. They had great potential.

He slipped into an alley near Gamlen's and whistled a note that started with a low pitch and rose sharply. A few moments later, one of the boys peeked over the edge of the roof, then began climbing down into the alley. He had expected Bryan, the quieter of the two, but it was Devin that dropped the last few feet to join him. He could always tell them apart because Bryan kept his shaggy brown hair tucked behind his ears, but Devin never bothered, letting the hair hang down over his eyes, like it was now. At some point, Varric would have to caution them about that, so no one else would notice it and use it against them.

Devin glanced around the alley to make sure no one was watching them. _Good boy_, thought Varric.

"You want an update for the week, or just today?"

"Just today."

"The brother came out this morning and sent a note off with a messenger, then the Guard Captain showed up and went inside, but left again, real sudden-like, then a little while ago, your friend came home. Heard some yelling when she went in, but couldn't hear no more once they closed the door."

_Andraste's flaming knickers_, Varric thought, _did the kid even draw a breath in the middle of all that? It was almost like listening to Daisy ramble. Well, at least I know Hawke finally came home. I wonder how long it will take for Aveline to find out?_

"Did she look hurt?"

"Not that I saw, but she was slumped a bit. Mighta' just been tired though."

Varric kept his thoughts to himself and just nodded. He opened his pack, appearing to search for something, but noted out of the corner of his eye the way Devin perked up at the smell of the fresh meat pies.

"Aww, nug shit! Will you look at that. The serving girl must not have been paying attention. She squashed the pies I bought."

Varric glanced up at Devin, who was wiping his hand across the corner of his mouth to hide the drool.

"I was going to keep these for later, but if I leave them in here, they'll ruin my stuff. Look, can you take 'em off my hands? I'd just have to pitch them out otherwise."

Varric lifted the two slightly crushed meat pies from his pack, taking care not to damage the fruit pie that remained and handed them over to the boy as if he were doing Varric a big favor.

"Thanks, kid. If you see anything stranger than usual, send me a note like we agreed."

Devin nodded as best he could while stuffing his face with pie. Varric turned and left the alley, resuming his whistling. The twins took great care of each other, so he knew that the second pie would find its way to Bryan as soon as Devin climbed back on the roof where they hid. The rooftop gave them a great view of Gamlen's house without exposing them to the unwanted attention of the city guard or the local gangs. When winter came, Varric would have to make sure they had a warmer place to sleep or maybe some thicker clothes. He couldn't have his people getting sick, it would be bad for business. Not to mention that he hated to see sick kids, even though he'd never admit that last part out loud.

It was a short walk from there to the alienage. Unlike most non-elves, Varric didn't get too much grief here. Considering that he hired some of the elves from time to time, they tended to give him a bit more respect than they gave other residents of Kirkwall. Which wasn't saying much. It also helped that he had been dropping by the alienage on an almost daily basis for the last few weeks since Hawke brought Merrill back from the Dalish camp near Sundermount. The poor girl had no idea how to find anything in the city without getting lost and Varric felt it was his responsibility to make sure she didn't get into too much trouble. He knew Hawke stopped by to visit when she could, but Merrill was used to being surrounded by her clan all the time and couldn't hide the fact that she was lonely.

He knocked on her door, then waited a moment and turned the door handle. As usual, she had forgotten to lock it. He had tried explaining to her the importance of keeping her door locked, but she had just given him that slightly dazed look he was getting so used to, and said that aravels didn't have locks.

When he poked his head around the door, he saw her sitting at the table in the far corner, completely engrossed in the book she was reading. She hadn't even noticed he was there. Cute in a lost kitten way, but definitely oblivious.

He shut the door a little harder than usual, and when her head snapped up at the sound, he threw his arms wide and walked into the room.

"Good morning, Daisy! Break out the fancy plates, I brought breakfast!"


	6. Chapter 6: Truth and Lies - Part I

The pain in Marian Hawke's body was nothing compared to the overwhelming ache in her heart. So many lies and so much lost over the years. She felt as though she were decades older than a mere 25 summers. She could not stop the bittersweet flood of memories pouring through her exhausted mind with a clarity that was almost painful. Sitting in her father's lap as a child, while he taught her to read. The tense silence of packing in the middle of the night, leaving behind most of their belongings because the templars had found them again. Her father tenderly holding her pregnant mother, while the soon-to-be-born twins kicked under his hand. Her mother's tears as she read Gamlen's letter about their parent's deaths. Malcolm and Leandra's laughter at the sight of their three children covered in mud from playing in a rain soaked yard. The ogre tossing Bethany's limp body aside like a broken doll. And, always, the terrible smell of burned flesh and death that had haunted her nightmares for the past four years.

Her feet moved as if independent of her own will, leading her unerringly back to her Uncle's house and the confrontation she had been dreading for so long. The time for hard truths had come.

O - O - O - O - O

The scent of sour ale and other, even less pleasant things, hit Marian hard when she opened the door to the filthy hovel that Uncle Gamlen called home. Even after a year, she could not call it that herself. It was a temporary place to stay until she could give her family the home they deserved. When they had first arrived in Kirkwall, Leandra had tried to clean the place, but her efforts just seemed to upset Gamlen, like everything else she did. Eventually, Leandra had limited herself to straightening up the room where they all slept and keeping their meager personal belongings as clean and mended as she could.

As the door closed behind her, the gentle warmth of the summer day outside transformed into an oppressive blanket of heat. She could understand needing a fire during the cold Kirkwall winters, but Gamlen kept the fire burning all year long. It might have been different if they could open a window to air the place out. She had tried to do that once, climbing to the little ledge high above the main room, where she could reach the few windows dimly illuminating the interior. She was bitterly disappointed to find that they had all been nailed shut.

Leandra was sitting in a chair on the other side of the room, her eyes fixed on the dancing flames in the fireplace. Her shoulders were slumped and there was an aura of weariness that clung to her slender frame. Marian guessed that her mother had gotten little to no sleep the night before. Without looking her way, Leandra spoke.

"Have they found her yet, Gamlen? I know that Aveline will..."

"Mother?"

At the sound of Marian's voice, Leandra immediately stood and turned, her hand gripping the back of the chair until her knuckles turned white. Marian could see the lines of worry etched on Leandra's face. Lines that had started years ago with Malcolm's death, but which seemed to become a permanent feature when they lost Bethany last year. Leandra seemed torn between running to Marian and using the chair to keep herself upright. Based on her mother's unfinished words, Marian realized that Gamlen had to be out of the house. She said a silent prayer to Andraste for that small favor, knowing his presence would make this even more difficult.

The door to the bedroom opened and Carver walked out, catching sight of her standing just inside the room. For a moment, he smiled, his face lighting up with joy at seeing her alive. It was like a glimpse from the past, of the happy child he had once been. But then, just as quickly, the smile vanished to be replaced by his now seemingly perpetual scowl. He took in her haggard appearance, clothes dirty and torn, with some red marks in a few places that were clearly blood stains.

"Where have you been? Mother has been beside herself with worry. You know what it's been like for her since you let Bethany die."

The anger in his voice was easier to accept than the look of pain that flashed across Leandra's face at his careless words. _Why couldn't Carver learn to think before he opened his mouth? _Normally, when Carver mentioned Bethany, Marian would seek a way to soothe her mother's feelings or distract her from the painful memories. That effort would be wasted now. The conversation was only going to get more painful from here. Marian looked at her mother for a moment, trying to decide how to begin.

"I am sorry for the worry I caused you, but something unexpected came up last night that I could not ignore. However, before I explain, I must ask you some questions."

Now that she was finally home, Carver seemed to forget the concern he had displayed for her just a moment ago, and took the opportunity to remind Marian that she was the one in trouble. He was finally right, while she was wrong.

"No. You don't get to ask your questions until you finish answering mine."

Before Marian could respond, Leandra's hand touched Carver's arm. He turned to look at his mother, recognized the look in her eyes, then turned back to glare silently at Marian as his mother spoke.

"What do you need to ask, darling?"

Marian took a deep breath, gathering her disjointed thoughts and began.

"Can you tell me how you met Father? In the beginning?"

Carver opened his mouth to speak, but Leandra gently squeezed his arm where her hand was resting, quieting him again without a word.

"I've told you this story before, why bring it up now? Does this have something to do with where you were last night?"

Marian simply nodded her head, encouraging her mother to answer the question.

"Your father came to Kirkwall while serving with a mercenary band. You know that he was skilled with the use of blades, in addition to his magic. He used those skills to join a group called the Crimson Oars. Even I didn't know at first that he was a mage. Not that my father would have approved of me seeing a mercenary, even one without magic.

I was in the Lowtown market the first time I saw him. My friends and I would sometimes convince our guards to let us go shopping there, despite the danger. The merchants sold things that you would never find in Hightown.

He was standing with a small group of mercenaries, and even though they all wore similar clothes, he stood out from the others. He was so tall, like you and Carver. All of us girls spotted him at the same time. My friends began giggling and make outrageous comments about him. I think he must have heard some of what they said, because he turned away from the merchant's stall he was at, and looked at us. As soon as our eyes locked, I couldn't look at anything else. He was so handsome, he just took my breath away.

I don't know how long we just stood there, staring at each other, but eventually my friends dragged me away to finish our shopping. I couldn't help myself, I kept glancing back to look for him. And every time I did, he seemed to be watching me so intently. He always lived up to his name, even before I knew what it was."

A faint ghost of a smile lifted the corners of Leandra's lips for a moment before she continued.

"Even though I kept thinking about him, I didn't actually expect to see him again. I had assumed he was another sailor, just passing through Kirkwall, on a ship bound for some exotic port. So I was pleasantly surprised when I spotted him in Hightown the next day. He told me later than he had followed me home from the market, at a distance, so he could see where I lived. Some of his fellow mercenaries had teased him and warned him not to fall for a noble's daughter. But nothing would change your father's mind once he was set on a course of action. I will be eternally grateful for his bravery and stubbornness. Without both of those traits, we would never have been together.

Over the next few weeks, he kept showing up around town and I found reasons to get close enough to talk to him. Eventually, I began to sneak out of the house at night through the cellars to meet him. It was so exciting! Nothing in my life had prepared me for the thrill of being with such a dashing young man. When things started to get more... serious... between us, he told me. About the magic and about being on the run from templars. He told me that he loved me, but he could never give me the kind of life I had been used to. I told him about my betrothal to the Comte. A pre-arranged marriage that I had not minded until I realized that I was falling in love with your father. I think we were both overcome by the depth of our emotions and I persuaded him to sneak back into the house with me. He stayed there with me that night and... well... we were very happy together."

A slight blush touched Leandra's pale cheeks, giving a glimpse of the stunning beauty she had been in her youth.

"Although your father never got caught sneaking around the estate, my family had started to suspect something was going on. My father insisted I take a guard with me when I left the house. I could only see your father at night, and I worried every day about the templars finding him. Eventually, my fears were almost realized. There was a fight near the docks with a some group called the Carta. Malcolm used healing magic to save the Crimson Oars' leader. He wasn't hurt in the fight, but not everyone in the mercenary group liked him. Someone told the templars about his magic and about his obsession with me. They showed up at my father's house to question me about him. My father was furious when he found out I had been sneaking around behind his back. But it was my mother who was most hurt that Malcolm was a mage. And I think she suspected what we had been doing, although she said nothing to me about it.

My father refused to let me step foot out of the house for days afterwards and I had become desperate to hear something about your father. He finally managed to bribe one of the servants to bring me a letter. He had been asked to take on a job, he didn't tell me where, but he said he would be gone from Kirkwall for several weeks. He had left the Crimson Oars and they had left Kirkwall. He wanted me to think about our relationship while he was gone. To really consider what being with him would mean. How it would change my life.

The first week he was gone, I cried all the time. My parents believed that he had left for good, that he had never really loved me. I went along with their idea and pretended to move on. A few weeks passed and my father finally seemed to accept my act. He allowed me to attend a masked ball in honor of a visit from the Orlesian Empress. Everyone important would be in attendance, and he hoped that I would use the opportunity to mend the relationship with my betrothed.

As I recall, I had not been feeling well that day and wasn't really interested in dancing, but then this tall man showed up in fancy red and white Orlesian dress robes. His face was completely covered by a white sculpted mask. He didn't speak a word at first, just pulled me up out of my seat and onto the dance floor. I knew who it was as soon as I was in his arms. He whirled me around the dance floor and then we slipped out onto the balcony to speak in the shadows.

He told me that he had come to see me one last time to say his goodbyes. He was leaving the Free Marches to go to Ferelden and start a new life there. He wasn't going to ask me to come with him, but I could see in his eyes that he wanted to. I didn't give him a chance to leave me behind. I told him what I had discovered during his weeks of absence. I was with child. We snuck out of the ball and went back to my family's estate. I changed clothes and was in the middle of packing a few things when my parents showed up. My mother was nearly hysterical, telling my father to lock me away and send for the templars to take Malcolm.

My father just told her, 'It's her life. Let her ruin it if she wants.'

Your father and I left Kirkwall that night on a ship bound for Amaranthine and never looked back."


	7. Chapter 7: Truth and Lies - Part II

**My eternal thanks to Hatsepsut for finding those pesky mistakes that I miss. If any mistakes are still here, the blame is solely mine.**

**All the pretty toys belong to Bioware, I just take them out and play with them.**

Leandra finished her story about meeting Malcolm and looked expectantly at her daughter. Carver took the opportunity to step back from his mother and her hand fell way from his arm. He went to stand closer to the fire, still frowning.

Marian started to pace restlessly as she attempted to pull together all the pieces of the puzzle in her mind. She did not notice the look her mother gave her, nor did she realize how much she resembled her father in that moment.

"It doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't make sense, darling? Your father and I met, we fell in love, we started a life together. Why is that so complicated?"

"That part makes sense, but when was he in the Gallows?" Marian paused in her pacing and looked at her mother.

This time it was her mother's turn to look confused.

"What do you mean? Your father wasn't a member of the Kirkwall Circle. He was already an apostate when I met him. Why would he go to the Gallows?"

Marian turned her gaze to her brother, who was watching her carefully, not sure where she was going with this.

"Carver, where did you put the letters from father that I gave you?"

"I locked them in our chest, so they..." His voice trailed off and for once, he seemed to understand where her mind was heading. "The templar."

Leandra looked from one of her children to the other, still not understanding what they were talking about.

"Will one of you please explain?"

Carver went into the bedroom, and came back a few minutes later to lay a small stack of letters on the writing desk. As his mother and sister moved closer to the desk, he returned to his spot by the fire.

Leandra picked up the stack of old pages and flipped through them.

"This is your father's handwriting," she exclaimed excitedly. "Where did you get these?"

"When we went to the Amell estate to look for grandfather's will, I found a letter inside a chest in the cellar. I think it was sent to your parents in the hope that they would forward it to father. It looked they had just tossed it away and forgotten about it. It was written by a mage at the Gallows named Tobrius. The letter spoke of the death of one of father's friends."

Marian could tell from the look on her mother's face that Leandra had never heard of Tobrius.

"But these letters are from your father, not to him. They were written to..."

Leandra flipped through the pages, looking for a name. Marian exchanged a glance with Carver. They both knew the moment their mother saw the name, as Leandra gasped and then glanced up at her son.

"Yes, mother. I've seen the letters. Ser Maurevar Carver. A templar. My namesake. Didn't you know where the name came from?"

"No, when your father and I discussed names for our children, he asked me to consider 'Carver' if we ever had a son. When I questioned him about it, he just said that it was the name of an old friend. Someone he respected."

Leandra turned to Marion and asked, "How did your father become friends with a templar? And where did you find these letters? Did you go back to the estate?"

"I didn't find them at the estate. I got them from Tobrius."

It took a moment for Leandra to consider what Marian was telling her, then her eyes narrowed and took on a decidedly frosty appearance.

"Are you telling me you went into the Gallows, the heart of Templar power in the Free Marches, to speak with this mage? You put yourself in that kind of danger for some old letters?"

Marian had known that her Mother would not approve, but she felt she had done what was needed to get answers.

"Not for the letters, Mother, for the information. Tobrius knew father well enough to recognize me as his daughter. Both he and the templar knew father before you met him. I... had hoped he could tell me more about father. About where he was originally from... who he really was." Marian's voice cracked slightly as she spoke, the force of long suppressed emotions coming out.

Leandra looked down for a moment as if trying to decide what to say. Her voice was hesitant when spoke.

"I questioned him about that when we first eloped. I wanted to understand what had made him the man he was, the man I loved. The only thing he said was 'Freedom's price is never cheap, but that was a hundred leagues and a lifetime ago.' That night was the first time I saw one of his nightmares. I awoke in the middle of the night to find him writhing on the bed, in a cold sweat, muttering strange words that I didn't understand. His whole body was surrounded by this strange flickering glow of power. I think I screamed and that's when he woke up. He was so worried, that he might have hurt me, might have hurt the baby. I realized that it was my foolish questions that had brought the past back to haunt him. He had more nightmares from time to time, but I didn't want to be responsible for them, so I stopped asking about his past after that night."

Marian looked at her mother's face and nodded, "I remember the nightmares. They woke me up sometimes. I could feel the power of his magic. It made my skin tingle. He was always worried that someone might see something, might tell the templars. I asked him once what the dreams were about and he just looked away, saying that some things were best left unknown. I had no idea, then, how true those words were."

"We all know father didn't like to speak of his past. You're chasing ghosts, sister. Father is gone. Why can't you just let it go?"

Marian had finally reached her breaking point. The exhaustion and emotional turmoil overwhelmed her.

"I can't let it go! I have to understand why! Who was he? Why did it happen? What did it mean?"

Marian was practically screaming. Even Carver looked surprised at such an unusual outburst from his normally calm sister.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I never told you, but I was there. I saw what they did to him."

"You were where? What did you see?" As usual, Carver was slow to catch on to what Marian meant.

"Father. I saw him die."

Carver's eyes widened and he took an involuntary step back, before the bitter accusations began to pour from his lips.

"You lied to us! You said you weren't there! That you didn't know where he was! We had to search for his body! I was the one who found the burned remains! How could you do that to me?"

Hawke could no longer contain the guilt and anguish she had kept bottled up for the past four years. Tears streamed from her eyes and she couldn't look at her mother or Carver.

Before Marian could say more, she felt her mother's arms enfold her and pull her into a hug. Sobs racked Marian's body and she tried to pull away, the weight of her own lies tormenting her. Leandra would not allow that distance and, showing strength surprising in such a slight frame, held her daughter close and pressed Marian's head down onto her shoulder.

The force of the emotions coursing through Marian was more draining than any battle she had ever fought. A gentle hand smoothed down the strands of her short hair. The feeling, so familiar from her childhood, brought more comfort than she would have thought possible. Slowly, her sobs began to subside.

With her head still resting on Leandra's shoulder and her eyes tightly closed, Marian experienced a moment of singular clarity, realizing several things simultaneously. She hadn't actually been sure if her mother could forgive her for the lies she had told about Malcolm's death. Having already lost one parent, her fear of destroying the remaining relationship had done more to enforce her silence than the promise her father had asked of her that fateful day.

She also understood how painful it must have been for Leandra to spend more than twenty years feeling responsible for ruining the relationship with her own mother. Leandra had never gotten the chance to repair that relationship before her mother's death. Lifting her head from Leandra's shoulder, Marian looked into her mother's eyes and saw an answering look of understanding reflected there. The bond between mother and daughter had not been broken, and even in the midst of such sorrow, Marian rejoiced for that blessing.

As her tears slowed, Marian took a shaky breath and looked to where Carver still stood near the fireplace. His answering glare told her that he was not going to forgive her so easily. She tried to explain.

"He made me promise. Not to tell you. Not to repeat what I saw or... what they called him."

Carver could no longer restrain his temper.

"Called him? We've been refugees in this blight-forsaken city for over a year. I've been called every insult under the sun, and a few from the deep roads. What could they have possibly called father that would make you risk your life like this?"

"They called him... Magister."


	8. Chapter 8: Having Faith

**A/N: This chapter is for Oleander's One. She was my 10th reviewer and I asked her whose point of view she would like to see a chapter written from. She chose Carver, which worked out perfectly! Thanks Ole, I hope you like it.**

**Bioware owns Dragon Age, I just have fun with it.**

Magister... the word echoed in Carver's mind like the tolling of a death knell from the Chantry. It was not enough that more than half his family were mages. Not enough that they had to hide from the templars, never knowing a normal life. Not enough that he would never be more than a dull blade in a house full of magic. But now, the very idea that his father had been not just an apostate, but an active member of the Tevinter Imperium... it was too much. He had to get out, out of this shack, and away from these people that he both loved and hated at the same time.

He spared one last glance for his sister, still embraced by their mother and headed for the door. They had each other, they didn't need him. They never really did.

Carver had no real plan as to where he would go. It was too early for the taverns to be open and he was in the mood to fight, not drink. That helped narrowed his choices a bit - the docks or Darktown. He could find a good fight in either part of the city at any time of the day or night. But, if he went to Darktown, he might run into Anders. He had no desire to see yet another mage, so he took the back stairs from Lowtown down to the docks.

The mingled stench of salt water and sewer run-off hit Carver hard as he came out of the passageway. With all the ships stopping here on their summer trade routes, the docks were packed. Too many bodies pressed together under the hot sun left a foul odor that would not fade. The lack of a strong breeze inside the harbor didn't help any. The only people happy about the bustle were the ones making money off of it. And they wouldn't be caught dead out here in the heat.

Carver thought it would take him a while to find some action, but he hadn't gone very far when he spotted a small group of sailors dragging a girl into one of the alleys. She looked to be only 16 or 17 years old and judging from the way she was kicking, he didn't think she was willing to go. He placed a hand on the hilt of his great sword, unsure whether he should draw it yet, and moved towards the alley entrance with a determined step.

They had left one of their number near the front to discourage curious visitors. Carver walked right up to the man, barely slowing down, and landing a well-placed knee in the man's groin. When he hunched over in surprise, Carver brought his elbow down on the back of the sailor's unprotected head. He slumped to the ground as Carver moved on.

There were 3 more sailors in the alley. Two of them were holding the girls arms, while the third grabbed her hair and tried to kiss her. Carver noted with a bit of a grin that she bit the sailor's lip, then turned her head away, spitting out a little blood while the man stepped back and began to curse. _A bit of a fiery temper on that one._

He was about to clear his throat and tell them to let her go, when the one with a bleeding lip pulled his hand back and hit the girl hard across the face. She was a small thing and would have gone flying if the other two weren't holding her arms. Carver was so enraged he didn't even take the time to draw his sword. He raced down the alley, slamming into the man with all his weight, both of them falling to the ground. Carver sat up, straddling the man's legs and raising his fists.

He punched the bully twice in the face, just as hard, if not harder, than the man had hit the girl. Blood gushed from a now broken nose and one eye was already swelling shut. The sailor raised one arm to protect his face from another blow and used the other to punch Carver in the ribs. His blow lacked the impact it might have had if the man was standing, but it did cause Carver to lose his breath and his concentration for a moment.

Before Carver could bring his fists back into play, he felt a sharp pain in his lower back. One of the other sailors had landed a kidney shot with his booted foot. Carver knew he couldn't take them all on together or he was going to get overwhelmed. Hissing from the pain, Carver shot his left hand back, grabbing the man's still raised foot and jerking it quickly upwards. Unable to keep his balance, the man fell onto the ground, landing hard on his back next to Carver with a dazed look on his face.

Feeling the man beneath him begin to twist and writhe, Carver's attention returned to his first target. The man's hand was reaching towards his boot, his head raised slightly off the ground, trying to see his dagger. Carver took advantage of the moment. His next punch bloodied the knuckles of his right hand completely, but hit with such force that the man's head snapped back and smacked loudly on the stone beneath him. His eyes closed and his frantic movements stopped immediately.

Carver still had the other man's ankle in his left hand. He pushed up with his legs to a standing position, lifting the other man's leg as he went. Spinning to face the still dazed sailor, Carver grabbed just above the knee on the leg he held and used the leverage to lift the man from the ground, swinging him around and slamming him into the alley wall. Carver let go of the man's leg, which was now twisted at an unnatural angle. Panting from the exertion, Carver turned to face the last sailor, expecting another fight. He was surprised to see the man simply standing there, one arm wrapped around the barely conscious girl, staring at Carver with a hard look on his face.

"Don't know what your problem is, boy." The last word was said with a sneer. "But you got no right to interfere. It ain't like the girl would have been hurt much."

Carver glared right back at the sailor, noting the large bruise already starting to show on the side of the girl's face.

"She wasn't willing. I think that's enough reason to stop you."

"She was willing enough last night."

Carver wasn't sure what to make of that comment, but before he could respond, he heard the sound of someone calling for the City Guard. Aveline would never let him hear the end of it if he got arrested for a dockside brawl.

The sailor didn't look too pleased about the guards either. He shoved the girl towards Carver and took off running back out of the alleyway. Carver stepped forward quickly, catching the girl before she could hit the ground and sweeping her up into his arms. She was light as a feather, and despite the soreness in his ribs and back, he took off in the other direction, holding her tight against his chest.

The year that he and Marian had spent serving the whims of that damned elven criminal had taught him many of Kirkwall's back streets. Just a short time later, he ducked behind a ragged hanging cloth and into the cool darkness of an abandoned warehouse. He wouldn't be safe here after dark, but for the moment the place was empty.

He looked around, trying to find a place to lay the girl down. Spotting a pile of old blankets, he deposited her on them as gently as possible. When he stood back up, he felt a throbbing pain in his ribs. Maybe that damned sailor had hit him harder than he thought and had managed to break a rib.

Carver looked around the room, making sure that they were alone, and reached his hand up to slip off the scabbard of his great sword. He needed to see how much damage had been done. While he had no healing magic, he had learned a bit about field dressing in the first few days with the army at Ostagar. He should at least be able to wrap it, but that would require getting out of the now sweat-soaked shirt. He tugged at his belt, which held the shirt in place and dropped it to the floor beside his sword. He began to carefully take off his shirt, when he felt something smash down on his foot.

He jumped in pain and his arms tangled into the shirt that was half over his head. Losing his balance, he fell to the floor, landing painfully on his ass. During the fall, his shirt had started to rip open. He now glared up through the torn pieces and saw the girl from the alley running towards the door.

"Wait!" He called out. "I was trying to help you."

She looked back over her shoulder, and came to a sudden halt when she took in his appearance. Realizing how ridiculous he appeared sitting on the floor with his arms twisted about over his head, Carver hastily tried to pull his shirt back into place. Sadly, it now had a large tear down the front and would have to be repaired. Carver scowled and looked back up at the girl. He saw her take a hasty step back and glance towards the door. He softened his features with an effort, and reached out his hand towards her.

"Please don't go."

"Who... who are you? And where are the sailors who grabbed me?"

Her voice seemed very soft and feminine. He noticed her lift a shaking hand towards the dark bruise spreading over the side of her face.

"I hurt them." He managed to keep his voice steady, barely hiding the wild emotions that had set him off at the sight of her pain.

"Why?"

He could no longer keep his emotions from showing and he lowered his eyes to keep from frightening her further. "They hurt you." The flush on his face betrayed his anger.

"If you wanted to help me, why did you bring me here?"

"The city guards were coming and I didn't want them to... I mean she would find out..." He sighed and looked down at his hands, clearly frustrated at his lack of communication skills.

"And if you didn't plan on raping me, why did you start stripping?"

Carver's head snapped up at her final question, and his eyes widened at the implication of her words.

"I wouldn't... I didn't... I mean I've never..." His face was now ablaze with embarrassment, the bright red color extending down his neck and up his ears.

"Yes, I can see that." Her voice now held a trace of humor. Her head tilted slightly to the side and she gave him an appraising look.

"I think one of the sailors broke my rib. I was taking the shirt off to check it." Carver went back to looking at his hands.

He heard a sound and a moment later he saw her approaching.

"All right then, let's see. Take it off."

"Wha- what?" He felt more confused talking to this slip of a girl than he had fighting the sailors.

"My father was in the army. He taught me how to bandage a wound."

Still a little unsteady, Carver slowly got to his feet. She helped him pull the shirt off and began gently probing his bruised side. Carver was staring at her hands, wondering how they could be so tiny and delicate, when she suddenly pressed down and pain shot through him. He jumped and yelped, which prompted an exasperated look from the girl.

"Stop being such a baby. It's not broken, just badly bruised." She went back to the pile of blankets she had woken up on and tore one of the tattered blankets into several strips.

"Hold up your arms and don't move."

Carver tried to stand as still as possible while the girl reached behind him to wrap the cloth around his chest. His chest was wide and in order for her arms to reach all the way around, she had to get very close. Each time she leaned into him, he felt her soft breasts press against his tense muscles while her breath tickled the light dusting of hair on his chest. Carver couldn't stop his reaction. If she leaned in one more time, he would not able to hide the effect she had on him.

He stepped back and dropped his arms to catch the ends of the cloth strip.

"Uhh... I... I can tie it, thanks." He knew from the heat he felt that his face was red again.

"Here."

He glanced up to see her holding his torn shirt. When he reached to take it, he captured her hand, holding it gently and looking into her eyes.

"I'm Carver. What's your name?"

"Faith. I'm... Faith."

Still holding her hand, Carver smiled at her.

"Thank you, Faith."

A ghost of a smile played over her lips.

"Thank you, Carver."


End file.
